Strange Doings
by NotTasha
Summary: Beckett and McKay run into trouble while exploring a burned town when they're kidnapped because they're doctors.
1. Strange Place

SEASON: Third Season  
MAJOR CHARACTERS: Beckett and McKay. **Happy Birthday flah7!** with a bit of Sheppard, Teyla and Ronon at the end.  
DISCLAIMERS: The characters, Atlantis, etc, all belong to Sony, MGM, Gecko, Showtime, the Sci-Fi Channel. I own nothing.   
NOTE: I'm writing a series of short stories, each featuring McKay and one of the others. If you want to check out the other stories, please see Stupid Stuff and Weird Kid, also found at this site.  
NOTE: Tipper issued a challenge to write a story based on a poem. I had already started this story, but I can honestly tell you that the setting was based on a poem I had read just before I started. The poem is at the end of the story, and it sets the scene.

**STRANGE DOINGS** _- by NotTasha_

**PART 1: STRANGE PLACE**

The frost crunched beneath his feet as he moved through the frozen, burned town. The wooden structures were blackened. Walls had been burned away. Soot smudged the cracked windows. A layer of frost tinted everything.

The frost had come early on this lonely world, freezing leaves in the trees, gilding needles in silver, killing the crops in the fields. Leaves fell heavily, making an audible sound as they hit the ground, like the footsteps of ghosts.

This whole world seemed haunted by them – the ghosts of those who didn't survive the blaze. He could almost feel them watching him – dark eyes from the surrounding silvered forest. It was unnerving, and a cold chill settled on his shoulders like a mantle.

Beckett closed his eyes a moment and blew out a long breath. With a shake of his head, he tried to rid his mind of such thoughts, but the unshakable sensation of watchers didn't leave him as he continued at his task – accounting for the dead.

It should have been Biro's responsibility, but she'd been off duty when Lorne's team reported on what they'd found. Biro deserved a day off as much as anyone, so Beckett answered the call, joining up with Sheppard's team to trek to this wretched place. It had been a long walk, and the heaviness of the situation didn't make the journey any easier. The cold wrapped around them, chilling them, making everything bleaker.

There'd been little conversation outside of McKay's usual nattering, and when they came to the town, even that came to a halt.

Latham, on the planet Waleska, must have been a pretty little place at some point, nestled against a river, near an open field, hidden in the trees. It burned until only skeletons of houses and shells of shops remained.

Lorne and the others led them, pointing out what they'd found – bodies amid the burn – people who didn't make it. _Poor souls. Poor wretched souls._

The too early winter must have been devastating to them as their crops were sapped. The people had tucked into their homes, waiting for the awful cold snap to pass, bundling up, unprepared.

How frightening that must have been, to see their future frozen.

Well, they were beyond caring now. Beckett sighed as he moved along the ruined street. He was a doctor, after all, and this work among the dead weighed him down.

It was strange doings, he decided, to have this place burn while, all around them, the world had turned to ice. He shoved his gloved hands further into his pockets, wishing the gloves were woolen instead of medical.

Yes, it was strange – so very strange.

He peered into a roofless home and found another scorched room, another blackened corpse – little more than ashes. He sighed, letting out a clouded breath. Such waste.

The only mercy was that so few bodies were found. Many of the buildings were empty. Many people had escaped, but where were they now? For certainly, the town had been well populated. What had happened to the survivors? Why had they left their dead?

Wraith, Ronon had proclaimed, having recognized something near the Gate, seeing some sign that was beyond Beckett's comprehension. The Wraith had descended on this planet. The people, closed into their homes by the sudden cold, must have been so afraid. They must have tried to be quiet. Someone, somewhere must have knocked over a candle in their panic, had held themselves too near the hearth in their hiding. Something caught fire and the whole place burned.

It was the only thing that made sense.

It must have been horrifying, Beckett thought glumly. It must have seemed like the end of the world.

The fire had burned. The fire had killed. Then, the fire cooled, and the frost crept in. And the people from Atlantis came to investigate and piece together the strange doings.

Then, as the two teams searched, they'd heard the sound of Wraith stunners in the distance. Ronon's head had come up, making him look rather like a hound that scented its quarry. In a moment, he was gone with Sheppard and Teyla right behind, along with two of Lorne's team.

Rodney, who'd been occupied with exploring some part of the town, had huffed unhappily when he discovered that his team had departed, leaving him with Lorne, a sergeant named Acworth, and Carson Beckett.

Put out and put upon, McKay had cried, "They left me! I can't believe my own team just took off and left me." Arms akimbo, he scowled at the injustice.

He'd made a half-hearted attempt to follow until Lorne thwarted him, ordering him to stay put. McKay balked, of course, acting as if he had no intention of listening to the orders. The major had been exasperated, realizing his duty was to protect the vulnerable civilians. It was obvious that Lorne would've preferred to meet the foe with the others.

Rodney had fumed at Lorne's impediments. Lorne grew frustrated with trying to corral the Canadian.

Beckett had tried to placate, "Rodney, you're better off stayin' here, you know? I could use the help. No sense in rushing off after them if you can do more good here."

"Good?" McKay had interjected. "What could I possibly manage here? Everyone's dead." He had an unsettled look about him as he said that. He looked away. "I mean, what can I do outside of filling out a couple toe tags for people I don't even know."

"Dr. McKay," Lorne had added smugly. "Sheppard and the others will have a better chance of making it home alive if you just stay here. They won't be tied up with waiting for you, won't have to constantly be on the lookout, having to protect you."

To that, Rodney's expression went a little blank. "I can keep up, for a while anyway," he declared, his voice faltering. "I mean, as long as I get a breather or something every so often." And he'd squinted after the departed shapes, listening to them crunch into the wintry forest. He sighed a little, perhaps judging his capacity for a marathon. "I can take care of myself… fairly well anyway."

Lorne put in, "It's not as if you're much of an asset in a battle." He grinned. "It'll give them the chance to actually catch up to those guys. I get to keep watch on you. You're better suited for helping the doc."

The statement only turned McKay's expression to a scowl. "Oh," he growled, "I am NOT a medical assistant, let us get that straight right now."

"No one would think that," Beckett muttered.

"I'm not about to intern under anyone!" Rodney's ire only rose.

"No one's askin' that, Rodney," Beckett tried to calm him.

"Fine," McKay snarled suddenly. "Great, I'll work with Doctor Beckett then, hmmm? This will be easier, anyway. Almost like a little R&R, right? Let them run into the woods while I hang out here, looking for burned up, crispy, dead people. I got no problem with that."

But he obviously did have a problem. Who could blame him? Checking the burned bodies of the townspeople was hardly the sort of duty to encourage anyone. Beckett had the stomach for it, but not the heart. So much death. He wondered how Biro managed to deal with it all the time.

So he stood in the doorway, his eyes on the blackened remains. Another body in another home, all burnt and charred and lost.

"There's one here, boys," he called over his shoulder.

"Yeah, okay," Lorne responded without any enthusiasm, he stood, lax, leaning against a burned up pillar of some sort.

Teyla and Ronon had been unsure of the local customs. Apparently, the people of this planet, Waleska, had no great ceremonies for internment the dead. "They take great pride in their ancestors," Teyla had explained. "They revere those who came before them, those that died before them. They have great histories, and remember their dead lovingly, yet they have little regard for their bodies."

"Empty husks," Ronon had added.

Beckett brought out a datapad and made a few notes, trying to record everything he could about this one home, this one person, trying to note something that might identify him – or her. Maybe someone from one of the other villages could help them give a name to this poor creature. There were other towns near Latham, out there in the forest somewhere. Hopefully someone would help them to know who this was.

As he worked, he felt that unpleasant chill sink even further into him. How could he feel so cold when everything had burned so fiercely?

And why… why had these poor souls stayed put, remained in their homes to burn?

Rodney had shrugged, looking distracted and annoyed. "The Wraith came. The people hid. It came down to a choice: burn or have your life sucked out of you. I guess some people preferred the flames."

"It's a horrible way to go, Rodney," Beckett had insisted. "Burning… it's…"

"And death by Wraith is any more pleasant?" McKay had responded, bringing a hand to his chest and then brushing at his jacket distractedly. "At least they robbed the Wraith of lunch, huh? That has to mean something."

"Yes," Beckett had agreed glumly, "That's something." And he tried not to imagine what had driven them to make such a horrid choice.

Then, Sheppard had radioed in, declaring that the Gate had been active when they approached it – their quarry gone. With any luck, that was the end of them.

With nothing else to do, Sheppard had returned to Atlantis, telling them of the current circumstances, of the lack of viable jumper landing areas. They'd return, with better cold weather gear and more people. With the Wraith about, they needed more protection. Someone should start digging graves, and obviously McKay wasn't going to be part of that task force.

It had taken an hour for Sheppard and the others to reach the Gate, which meant at least another hour to return. So, McKay and Beckett went back to the search, with Lorne and Acworth standing by. The frosted weather hung heavily over them.

And all the while, Beckett had the sensation of being observed – as if by ghosts. It was a strange, unnerving sensation. He glanced to where Lorne stood. Acworth was sauntering toward the major, looking just as bored. McKay had made it to the far end of town and was checking out some of the least damaged structures.

Something felt… wrong.

But nothing was amiss – outside of the strangeness of the burned out buildings and the frozen world around them, and the dead. No ghosts – no dark eyes. Nothing to worry about.

Beckett tsked at himself. He was being ridiculous. There was work to do. He squatted beside the miserable remains of the latest Waleskan. There was nothing recognizable about the face. It seemed hardly human, just a shell of someone who'd once lived and breathed and chose the flame.

_A shame. Such a shame._

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the unknown person. "We came too late. We didn't know. If there's anythin' I could've done, I would've…" He paused, not knowing what else to say. The cold drove into his bones and he shivered against it, feeling inadequate and puny. His skilled hands clutched at his useless medical bag. "I'm so sorry, so very sorry." Such horrible waste.

"_Carson!"_ Rodney's voice broke him from his quiet conversation. "_Carson! I found someone!"_ McKay's voice was excited over the radio. "_Not burned. This one's not burned!"_

His heart leaping, Carson darted toward the door, grasping his bag to him. Lord, if he could save just one person-- "Where are you?" he questioned urgently.

"_Third door from the end. The side of the street that has the big hoop that's sort of hanging from a pole – probably some sort of representation of the stargate. It's the doorway to the right of that of that, and to the left of the place that has some sort of pig head on it. Come on! Hurry!"_

Shaking his head at the description, Carson wondered if Rodney had purposefully memorized these little details or if they'd just come to him. Lorne and Acworth moved toward him.

"You need us?" the major asked.

"I'll letcha know," Carson responded, hoofing it down the street in the direction McKay had described, quickly finding the hoop hanging and broken on its pole, and spotting the blackened sign that might have resembled a pig's head if the creature's snout was half its regular size and had shorter ears.

"Rodney?" he called as he entered the door.

"Carson! Come on, already," McKay cried.

Beckett darted within, finding Rodney hovering over a woman. Beckett let out a little sigh of relief to find one person untouched by the fire. He rushed into the room and dropped to his haunches beside McKay.

"I found her!" McKay told him, sounding proud. "Must be the only one that didn't … you know… get burned in the fire. She looks fine…" His brow furrowed as he watched Beckett work over the woman.

There was no pulse. Her skin was cold. She was gray. No roses in those cheeks. Beckett sat back on his heels.

Rodney looked surprised. "Aren't you going to do anything?" he asked. "Come on, CPR or something? You brought the defibrillator, didn't you?"

_Just another of the dead,_ Beckett thought glumly. _Too little – too late._

"Carson? Come on!" McKay berated.

"There's nothin' I can do, Rodney," Beckett said quietly.

Rodney's face scrunched up. "There's nothing…?"

"She's long gone," Beckett continued with an even voice. He lifted his eyes, taking in Rodney's expression. There was a look of resigned sorrow tightening the Canadian's eyes. He knew, Beckett decided, Rodney knew all along that there was no hope for the woman. Maybe he only hoped.

"Fine," McKay responded, getting to his feet and scrubbing at his knees.

Beckett continued to examine the woman who seemed untouched, just cold and empty and black around the nose and mouth. "The smoke," he said softly. "The smoke got to her. It'll kill you sure as flame."

"Yes, this I know," McKay replied, moving away from the dead woman to stand in the doorway and breath the cold air that seemed to crisp the lungs.

"Nothing we could've done," Beckett whispered.

"Yes, obviously," McKay responded, looking away.

"Rodney," Beckett started, when his radio chirped.

"_Dr. Beckett, you and Dr. McKay need us there?" _Lorne asked.

"No, lad," Beckett responded quietly. "I've got another one here. Should take some photos of her. We might be able to find someone who knows her." He regarded the woman, finding her not particularly pretty, but not ugly either. She had a plainness to her – brown hair that had been tied in a bun, sharp cheekbones and a long face that might have given her a 'horsy' look when she'd been alive.

No, she wasn't pretty. There was a blemish on her neck, a birthmark, which she'd vainly tried to hide with a scarf. The bit of cloth now hung loose at her neck.

Cold and dead and left in this empty house, Beckett found a loneliness in her. The unburned room seemed so empty and sullen.

"I'm so sorry, lass," he said quietly, touching his gloved hand to her face, gently, as if he were touching a loved one.

"Why aren't they back yet?" McKay's voice startled him. "Sheppard and Teyla and Ronon went running off into the wilderness and were supposed to come back a soon as they figured out the Wraith had gone."

"It's quite a trek back," Beckett said softly, not really listening.

"They could speed it up," Rodney snapped.

"No sense in hurryin' now," Beckett responded. "Nothin' here to hurry to except the dead."

"And us!" Rodney countered. "I don't want to be counted among the…" and he flipped a hand toward the woman, but didn't turn to face in that direction.

The familiar, horrible sound of Wraith stunners firing brought Beckett to his feet, without a thought he stood protectively over the dead woman, wide eyed as he watched the doorway and at Rodney. The scientist spun toward him, opening his mouth to say something --- anything, but it was already too late as two figures moved into the doorway.

**TBC**


	2. Strange Journey

**STRANGE DOINGS** _- by NotTasha_

**PART 2: STRANGE JOURNEY**

Beckett moved to grab his 9mm, even as McKay held up his hands, palms open toward the two men in the doorway. The strangers, dressed in the garb of the local people, blocked the egress as they aimed Wraith stunners into the room.

"Put it down!" the taller one ordered, glaring at Carson's partially un-holstered weapon. Then, turning to McKay, continued, "You too. Now!"

"Sure, sure," McKay responded, not moving, his hand still up like some sort of pantomime, "anything you want!"

"Now!" the other man, shorter and dark-haired, demanded.

Beckett felt almost disappointed, seeing how quickly McKay surrendered. Rodney had removed his gun from its holster, making the procedure both clumsy and quick. The Canadian had his gun in hand and was setting it on the ground even before Beckett had managed to disarm himself.

The two men watched them carefully, stunners raised to counter any ill-advised moves.

"You're doctors," the taller man stated – it wasn't a question.

"Doctors? Well, yes," McKay responded quickly. "Although we're not exactly on the same level," and he gave Beckett a glance. "or in the same league."

"Doctors. Yes, man, we're doctors," Beckett cut in. The response seemed to ease something in the two.

"We need you to come with us," the taller man continued. "Now." And he made a brisk gesture, directing them into the street.

"Shouldn't we just…" McKay tried.

"Move," the other man cut him off, grasping Rodney's arm and hauling him through the doorway. Beckett hurried to catch up.

As they returned to the frosted road, Beckett hissed to McKay, "Major Lorne… where is he?"

Rodney's gaze was trained at a spot a short distance from them. Two heaps were splayed out in the road.

_Oh no!_

Exhaling despairingly, Beckett moved, edging around their guards, escaping them. He ran, in spite of the angry shouts that followed. He knew they might shoot him for his action, but the men held only stunners. He had to believe that they wouldn't kill him, but Lord, he didn't want to suffer through another 'stunning'.

_Pins and needles, right? Not so bad._

Behind him, he heard the shuffle of feet as they tried to get around McKay. There was some sort of scuffle, but by then he'd reached Acworth and Lorne.

They were stretched out, immobile, on the road. Quickly, he assessed them, seeing that their color was good, noting automatically that they still breathed.

_Thank God. Thank God._

Acworth was half on his side and out like a light. Lorne was flat on his back and blinked up at Beckett languidly.

The doctor checked Acworth first. He felt for a pulse and found it strong, then moved to Lorne. "Major," he called. "You all right? Can you hear me, son? Can you speak?"

Lorne's gaze tracked, finding Carson's, but the eyes didn't seem to focus. His lips parted as if he meant to speak, but the major managed only to drool a little.

"Major," Beckett called again, but by then a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder, pulling him back as another hand pulled the radio from his ear.

The shorter man explained, "They'll be fine. Just stunned."

"Come on," the first man ordered, tugging on Beckett's arm and pulling him to his feet.

Yes -- stunned. Just stunned. Beckett had seen it often enough to recognize the symptoms right off. They'd be fine.

The first man stated, "Move it. Now. We don't have time for this."

Yes, right. They were being kidnapped, weren't they? But how could they abandon their people in the street?

"There may be complications," Beckett tried, even though he had never seen such before. He hovered over Lorne who watched him sleepily, his gaze imparting only a sad embarrassment at the situation.

"Now!" the man barked, making Beckett flinch. He continued to keep an eye on Lorne and Acworth.

"Great," McKay snapped from behind him. "And where, exactly, are you planning to take us? I mean, you sneak in here with your Wraith weapons, acting all belligerent and superior, and you shoot a couple of our guys, and order us to leave with you. Why should we?"

Carson finally looked away from their stunned people to find Rodney, held tightly by two new men. He swallowed in surprise, finding four more men had arrived at some point.

"We need doctors," the first man said again. "And you're coming with us."

The statement awoke something in Carson. "Someone's hurt?"

The first man said nothing. His shorter cohort nodded, looking anxious, concerned. Beckett could see it clearly in their expressions. Something was wrong. They were desperate. Someone needed his help.

"How bad?" Beckett gasped.

"Carson!" Rodney responded, his voice sharp. He gave Beckett an incredulous look. "We're not leaving with them!"

"How bad?" Beckett asked again.

"It's bad," the second man responded. He was similar enough to the first to be a brother. "She'll …" and he paused, looking about at the ruined frozen town. "… she won't live through this without help. Neither of them."

Beckett set his jaw at this thought. He didn't know what the situation was, but he would not let someone, some people, die – not if he could help it. Too many bodies littered the town – too many who were beyond his help. If he could save only one, if he could save both, maybe this trip would be proved worthwhile.

"Carson, you can't be considering…" McKay started, sputtering. "We're not leaving our guys," and he gestured toward the stricken men at their feet. "And we definitely aren't leaving them behind for someone you don't even know."

"They'll be fine, Rodney," Beckett said softly.

"You'd rather go with these thugs?" McKay's voice was sharp with anger. "They've probably been watching us for hours, waiting for the moment when they could attack our own people and kidnap us!"

Ah yes, Beckett surmised. That was why he felt those eyes upon him earlier. Of course – they'd been under observation. That fact, strangely, made him relax a little. He gave Lorne one last glance, and patted him softly on the shoulder. "You'll be all right, lad," he soothed. "Pins and needles, remember? Just pins and needles."

Rodney made a disgusted sound as he struggled his arms free. The men released him, apparently realizing he wasn't going anywhere. McKay spun on them, wringing his arms and looking thoroughly disgusted. "We're not leaving," he told the captors. "We're not going."

"We need you," was the response. And the man looked toward Beckett, eyes filled with hope.

Carson knew what he had to do. "You don't have to come," he told Rodney. When their captors started to speak, he went on, telling to the men in an almost kind manner, "If you just leave him here to look after these men, I'll give you no trouble."

"I don't know if that's wise," one of the men in the group muttered. "She's going to..."

"That's not going to happen!" McKay cut in. "Carson, have you gone totally insane?"

"It'll be for the best," Beckett went on.

"Oh, you've definitely gone 'round the bend, haven't you?" Rodney grumbled. "We're _both_ staying put, and that's final!"

Ignoring Rodney's outraged expression, Beckett said calmly, "You got his radio so there's nothin' he can do. Leave him here. Someone needs my help? Take me. He's not going to cause any trouble."

"Now wait a minute!" McKay fought back.

"And he's not very fast on a hike. If you've been watchin' for long enough, you would've heard as much," Beckett tried, hoping they'd heard the early exchange with Lorne, hoping they believed it.

"No! Come on, that's not true!" McKay defended. "I mean, just because I'm not as fast as Teyla and Ronon doesn't mean I can't move when I have to. I mean, Teyla is freakishly fast. There's something strange about both of them. Just because I don't like going farther than is necessary doesn't mean…"

Beckett plowed on, "You want a doctor. He'll stay with them and I'll go with you." The Scot gazed to Lorne, but found the major wasn't looking at him. Instead, the soldier was watching McKay.

Of course, neither Beckett nor McKay had any say in the matter. Their captors gave no response to Beckett's bargaining, except to shove him toward McKay and get them both moving into the woods.

McKay went without much ado, letting himself be maneuvered, just muttering that he was able to go on a decent walk and didn't understand why everyone thought he was incapable of it.

They moved, crunching the frozen earth beneath their feet, falling into a loose single-file formation, and they entered into the cold wood.

Beckett watched as Rodney, ahead of him, looked over his shoulder. The Canadian met his gaze, and then looked beyond, back to where Lorne and Acworth sprawled across the road, and maybe further – searching out Sheppard and the others.

No one came and they kept moving.

Rodney faced forward and clutched his arms close to him, blowing out plumes in the cold.

They'd taken McKay's pack. A man with a bit of a mustache had tucked Carson's medical bag under his arm. They moved quickly. The tall man led, followed by the dark-haired one, then McKay. Next was man with the mustache, then Beckett. The rest were behind. Beckett kept his eyes on Rodney because he had nowhere else to look – except at this group of men that looked too much alike.

_Brothers,_ Carson reasoned. _Brothers or cousins. Definitely a family. Maybe even a clan._

The trail turned sharply, and McKay slid on a bit of ice, catching a handful of branches as he fought to keep his balance. "Are we slowing down any time soon?" he griped, getting a thunk by the man with the mustache for his complaints.

They kept going. The trail twisted and turned. Beckett blew on his hands, wishing again for wool gloves. His hands were getting awfully cold.

Apparently, Rodney had the same thought. "Maybe we could stop somewhere and get a nice fire going." He held up his hands as if to a hearth. "Warm up a bit?" No one answered, and Rodney dropped his hands, idling running them through the brush. 

Beckett jammed his into his pockets. "You'll be all right, Rodney," he tried to soothe.

"Speak for yourself!" McKay shot back.

The men didn't slow, and they moved further into the woods, going one way, and then another, following well worn, frozen paths. People had moved along these byways for generations, Carson figured. And these men knew the labyrinth well.

McKay stumbled and caught himself, but Beckett kept the pace easily, wanting to get to their destination. Someone was hurt. Someone would die if they didn't get there in time.

He could help someone.

"It'd be good if I knew what I was gonna be facing," he attempted. "What's happened to her? What will I need to be doin'?"

"You'll see soon enough," someone told him.

"It's serious though?" Beckett tried.

"Deadly," was the response.

There was an alarm in their pace, a desperation. Beckett didn't care for their tactics, didn't care for them at all, but he drove himself onward, eager to help, to offer aid. They'd come specifically for a doctor. He would not deny them his help.

McKay had simply been swept up. It didn't matter to them that a doctor's title could be held by any number of vocations. They thought Rodney was a physician, and so far, Rodney had done nothing to dissuade them from their misconception.

Beckett frowned at this realization, wishing that McKay had fought to stay behind with Lorne and Acworth. Someone needed to look after those poor souls. With a little coaxing, he might have been able to convince their captors of that fact. The Marines were alone and helpless. Why didn't McKay stay with them? Was he that afraid of being left behind?

Beckett's forehead furrowed at that thought and figured that there must have been some other logic to Rodney's actions. He hustled to keep up.

"This woman who's hurt," he asked, "is she suffering from a broken bone? An animal attack? A fall?" He paused a moment, waiting for response. Not getting one, he went on, "Is it an injury? A sickness? Do you know if she has a fever or…"

"You'll see," someone assured him. "Keep it quiet."

To that, McKay let out a groan. "Quiet? Yeah, right! They want us quiet and moving fast. You watch, one of us is going to fall and break our skulls open. Oh, and you just know it's going to be me. I don't heal well, you know that? You want that on your conscience?" he asked the men surrounding them. They gave no response, so he asked, "What's in it for us, huh?"

"You get to stay alive," the tall one said darkly.

"Great…" McKay grumbled, nearly losing his footing on a stretch of ice. "But you don't want us dead, do you? You'd be using guns or spears or whatever if you wanted us dead. Oh no, we're much more useful to you alive, aren't we?" McKay looked over his shoulder, nodding to Beckett. "They don't want us dead." But even as he turned toward Beckett, his gaze reached further, searching out the trail behind them.

"Rodney, turn around," Beckett said tiredly.

Frowning, Rodney turned about, and his toe caught a root. For a second, he fought for his balance, and lost it. He flung out his arms, trying to keep himself from smashing his head into the frozen ground. He gave a tremendous shout as he fell spectacularly.

Their captors halted, looking in disbelief at what had just transpired, as McKay panted, moaning unhappily on his hands and knees.

"Get up," the man with the mustache ordered.

"For the… ow! Ow!" Rodney rolled to his butt and clutched at his knee. "I… I…" His face scrunched up in misery. "It's broken! I… ow!"

Beckett pressed past the guard and squatted down beside his friend. "Rodney? Let me see it."

"Definitely broke something here," McKay gasped through gritted teeth as he grasped his leg close to him. "The patella… it has to be the patella. Or, I might have dislocated something… Ow… oh… It's agony, pure agony!"

"Quiet!" the tall one ordered, then gave Beckett an enraged look. "Quiet him down!"

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" McKay didn't lower his voice or release his grasp.

"Come on, Rodney," Beckett said with a sigh. "Let me have a look." He managed to peel back the tightly grasped fingers, revealing torn cloth, raspberry flesh and oozing blood.

"Might be a sublux," McKay hissed. "I heard about someone who had their kneecap travel halfway down their shin. Oh God! What if that happens to me?"

"It's not going to happen, Rodney," Carson tried to soothe.

"Could be Anterior Chondromalacia." Rodney groaned, sitting back a bit to give Beckett room. "Definitely a biomechanical abnormality. Something is off between the patella and the trochlear groove of the femur. Oh, that kneecap is breaking loose right now! I can feel it."

Carson sighed. "Well, let me have a look-see and I'll give my opinion of the matter."

He carefully rolled up the pant leg and examined the unpleasant looking abrasion. He gently felt around the area, and moved the knee joint carefully, while Rodney made little mewling noises deep in his throat. With a grimace, Carson told the physicist, "I think you skinned your knee."

McKay's hands flew towards Beckett's, trying to stop his ministrations. "OW! OW! Broken. There's something broken in there, Carson. OW!"

Carson sighed, watching his friend's face. The man certainly looked as if he was in pain. He called for his bag and was allowed access to it.

Squatting on the frozen ground, Beckett felt the chill seep further into him as he cleaned the broken skin and applied an antibiotic cream to the area.

"Aren't you going to bandage it?" Rodney asked, a tremble in his voice. "I'll get an infection like that." And he snapped his fingers.

"It'll be fine like that for now," Carson told him. Finished, he lifted his head to see the others. He was met with a sea of disapproval. "He should take it easy," Beckett commented. "Better if we rest a bit, eh?"

In response, two of the men dragged Rodney to his feet. Another pulled Beckett up as well. McKay stumbled, moaning and grumbling, but in spite of a limp, Rodney seemed to be holding up his weight without any difficulty, but he was shivering now with the cold. With a fuss, he rolled his pant leg down over the wound.

Someone gave Rodney a shove and they were moving again, albeit at a slower pace as Rodney hobbled. "Great," the Canadian muttered under his breath. "Going to walk me to death. Fine. Watch, the knee is going to completely dislocate and then you'll be sorry. Did you know I'm freezing? My hands are like ice!" He reached out one of those frozen hands, grabbing a handful of branches to catch his balance as he clumsily moved along.

"If you get moving, you won't be cold," one of the group taunted.

Beckett tried to get closer to Rodney, but was countered by the man with the mustache. Carson gave the man a glare, and shoved his way forward. Whether he won the argument by force, or if the man simply figured he'd do no harm, Beckett was allowed to come alongside Rodney, and they kept moving.

**-------------------------------------**

Their pace had slowed. Oh, not that the men didn't do their best to hurry them. There were moments of frantic movement, but Rodney's limp would increase and much moaning would ensue, and slowly but surely, the pace would slow again to a walk.

It would take a little while for the men to realize what had happened. They'd be forced to hustle again – for a while. But the power of McKay's obstinacy would eventually bring them back to a snail's pace.

They turned this way and that, following a path that Carson couldn't even begin to retrace. They passed orchards of trees. Fruit and nuts hung from branches, silvered and looking like strange ornaments -- ruined in the frost. Damaged berries clung to the hunkered bushes. He glanced out at fields, just beyond the woods, seeing the grain lain down under a layer of freeze.

And as he looked out, into the bleakness of the forest, Carson still had the feeling that eyes were upon him, watching from behind the frozen trees, observing from someplace just out of sight. He'd turn, hoping to find Sheppard and the others charging out of the frost, but no one came.

The cold sunk further into his bones as he walked alongside McKay who continued to stumble and reach out to catch his balance on whatever branch or bush was on his left, instead of letting Beckett steady him from the right. Carson could only sigh at the man's pigheadedness.

And suddenly, as the day started to darken into an evening, they stopped. The tallest of the group held out a hand, to quiet the group.

"What?" McKay cried. "What's happening?"

"Silence!" the call went up. They made another turn, down a narrow pathway where they were forced to move single file. Rodney continued to limp pathetically, seeming hardly able to keep himself on his feet. Beckett sighed again, realizing he'd have to give McKay a better examination. He'd kick himself if he found out that Rodney had been more seriously injured than he'd first conjectured.

And then the trail opened up and they came out in a little clearing, filled with hovels made of wattles and branches. The place looked temporary, quickly and rudely constructed, but strange homey touches decorated the area – a flower box, a painted sill, a nicely carved bench.

"Ma," one of the men called out in a hoarse whisper. "Ma, we're here. We brought the doctors, like you told us."

Out of the dim recesses of one of the hovels, a form shuffled. A shape emerged. Beckett narrowed his eyes, wishing that he could reach for a torch to better illuminate the dimming scene.

Other forms appeared from the humble abodes – women and children, babes in arms. They moved out of the shadowy spaces and into the last bit of light that came in through the trees.

One moved with a definite regality. She was a large woman, formidable, with dark hair that had silvered like the trees around them. Her face had a softness to it, as if she were used to sitting in her favorite chair, beside a warm hearth instead of squatting beneath a bunch of branches in the woods. But, her eyes were sharp and seemed to stare right into one's soul.

She came to them, her chin raised. She stared first at McKay and seemed to discount him before she found Beckett and held his gaze.

"You are doctors?" she said at last.

"Yes," McKay responded immediately. "Yes, yes, doctors. You got us." And he gave Beckett a look. "So what do you want with us?"

She didn't seem to like Rodney's tone, making a little grimace of distain. She kept her gaze on Carson. "I am Kennesaw," she said imperiously as she held her hands gripped tightly before her. "You stand before me, my family and all our ancestors," she inclined her head toward their captors. "These are my sons, my boys. Austell is my oldest." The tall one nodded at his name. "And that is Norcross and Lennox and Collan. The others are nephews, they are named…"

McKay grumbled, cutting her off most rudely, "Yeah, this is all well and good, but honestly, I don't care. We have been held against our will. We have been kidnapped. Members of our party were assaulted and left at the mercy of whatever creatures might be out there…"

At this pronouncement, Kennesaw gave the men a startled look. "Austell? Norcross? I told you that no one should get hurt!" She was angry.

The dark-haired one, Norcross, held up his hands placating. "Ma! We only _stunned_ those guys. Just stunned 'em." Brothers and cousins murmured and nodded.

She still didn't look pleased.

McKay went on. "Stunned them, and forced us to leave them alone out there. They've probably been eaten by wolves by now – or mutant pigs, or whatever you have out here." There was a slight quaver to his voice as he considered this. "Then these 'boys' put us on a death march." With a gesture, he indicated his knee where blood spotted through his pant leg, "I was grievously injured and forced to continued onward with my near maiming. I might be crippled for life."

At this comment, Kennesaw looked less impressed and gave Rodney a blank look.

"We have been imprisoned by your _boys_," McKay concluded. "This is unconscionable. We demand release!"

"You are doctors?" Kennesaw repeated, her hands still held before herself.

"Yes," Beckett finally got in, managing to get a little in front of McKay and hopefully shut him up. "I'm a physician. Is someone hurt?"

She seemed to draw in on herself. "You are men of science and reason?" she asked.

"Well, I am," McKay returned bluntly.

"Yes," Beckett responded, giving McKay a glare. "We are both schooled in science. And both are reasonably reasonable."

She glanced from Beckett to McKay and then to her boys, who moved in, surrounding the captives. She seemed to be weighing the Atlanteans, regarding them, as her boys brought the stunners about, ready to use them if necessary.

McKay groaned and uttered, "Really, is there a need for that? What could we possibly do?"

Kennesaw came to a decision and proffered a hand. Beckett hesitated, not knowing the greeting custom of the people. Extending his hand, Carson gently took Kennesaw's in his, and then he saw it.

He paused as he held her hand, not wanting to appear rude, but the doctor in him had quickly sighted a rather large wart on the side of one of her fingers. Embarrassed at his hesitation, he started to speak an apology, but Kennesaw cut him off.

"You will remove it?" she asked, her voice finally betraying something other than total control. "You will be able to do that and leave no trace?" She was nervous. Afraid.

Perplexed by the question, Beckett responded, "Certainly. It won't take but a moment."

She relaxed slightly. "And a blemish, from my granddaughter, Chamblee's arm?"

Carson furrowed his brow, wanting to get this nonsense out of the way and get to the 'real' patient. "I'll have to look at it before I can be certain, but I doubt that it'd be a problem."

"Good," Kennesaw said. She looked a little ashamed. "It is vitally important that it is done before the others return." With a curt nod she proclaimed, "You may proceed now."

For a moment, Beckett didn't speak, still holding the hand with the wart on one finger. 

Kennesaw continued to watch Carson carefully, as if monitoring his responses. The men kept their weapons ready.

The realization hit Beckett and he didn't know what to do, what to say. In all honestly, he wanted to fume at the woman, to let loose all the anxiety that had been building since this began. Had they honestly been brought here to remove a ...

"A wart?" It was McKay who broke the quiet. "You've got to be kidding me!" he cried, his face growing a little red. "This is unbelievable. You dragged us out here so that Carson could do a nip-tuck up on your granddaughter and freeze off your wart?" He was incredulous. "You nearly killed us!"

Norcross responded with a grumbled, "We weren't going to kill you."

"Fine! But Lorne and Acworth might be dead by now." McKay pointedly responded. "All because you were so vain as to want a wart removed. We left two of our people stunned out of their minds and drooling in the dirt. Bet some horrible pig creatures gnawed them down to the bone by now, eaten them alive."

"Rodney!" Beckett exclaimed, horrified at the possibility.

"Not quite," a familiar drawl came from just behind the clan of men. The brothers and cousins spun about.

Beckett grinned from ear to ear as Ronon, Sheppard, Teyla , and a group of Marines materialized from the darkness of the trees.

"Oh, finally!" McKay moaned as Norcross, Austell and the others spun about in surprise. They put up a bit of a fight, but they were no match to the newcomers and were quickly disarmed. The women disappeared into the hovels with their children, but Kennesaw remained, withdrawing her hand from Beckett's grasp. She stood quietly before the homes as if guarding them.

Sheppard regarded his people quickly. His gaze taking in Beckett first, then lingering on McKay a moment longer, seeing his bloody knee, his torn pant leg and his surly disposition. Finding them both well, his tense expression relaxed into something more familiar.

"Dr. McKay, Dr. Beckett," Teyla called to them. "Are you both well?"

"Aye lass," Carson responded with a sigh. "That we are."

"Speak for yourself," McKay sniped, and pointedly indicated his knee. "Took you long enough to catch up."

Beckett sighed, shaking his head and moved toward the Canadian, ready to give the serious injury another look. "Lorne and Acworth," he stated the names quickly. "You found them, didn't you?"

"They are well," Teyla assured.

"Nothing's chewed on them, but they're not very peppy yet," Sheppard responded. "Lorne's still a bit drooly."

"Well, good," McKay responded as he limped toward one of the prettily carved benches. Beckett saw something relax in the physicist.

"How'd you find us?" Beckett asked. He glanced up to Kennesaw, who stood watching and waiting. "We made so many turns along those paths I didn't think we'd ever be found without a guide."

"Wasn't hard," Ronon responded with a shrug. "Tracking you was like following a herd of Smyrnas through a hedge." The Satedan glanced toward the American. "These people obviously are new to this whole kidnapping thing. They don't know what they're doing."

Sheppard just grinned, watching as Beckett tried to get another look at McKay's bloody knee. Rodney grimaced and winced. "Yeah," John said. "I think _someone_ knows what he's doing.

**TBC**


	3. Strange Luck

**STRANGE DOINGS** _- by NotTasha_

**PART 3: STRANGE LUCK**

The people of the planet Waleska had lived long without an appearance of the Wraith, and they had prospered in those years, spreading out their villages. Times were good and they lived in plenty.

As their people multiplied, they grew almost lazy with their good fortune, expecting only sunny days ahead.

Then an illness had run through the towns, weakening many, killing some. It was a wretched time of suffering from which they were only beginning to emerge. And then came the Wraith, screeching out of the sky, scooping up many that the illness had spared. The culling was horrible. Entire towns were obliterated -- others were half emptied.

Ghosts wandered everywhere.

Then the heavy freeze came while the inhabitants were still reeling. There had not been enough people to go into the fields to salvage the crops. The cold weather crept in, spreading its deadly fingers, ruining everything.

Where their lives had once been sweet and good – now only bleakness and poverty remained. How could their fortune turn sour so quickly? Something must have happened to change things so completely. It was so strange. Something must have been at fault. Someone would be blamed.

One town had escaped the worst of the horror – one town came through the illness unscathed, had lost no souls to the Wraith. Only one town had enough people to harvest their fields, had enough stores of grain to see them through the horrible freeze. Only Latham avoided the pains.

Obviously, the people of that town had done something – something strange – something abnormal. Strange luck.

Townspeople came from other villages to Latham on the pretense that they were asking questions, trying to figure out how one hamlet remained lucky while the others suffered. Waleskans, smarting from their grief, desperate with their hunger, descended on the town.

But there was little food to be had. How did the people of Latham hide so much? The ominous expressions of their countrymen grew darker. They asked questions. They demanded answers.

"How did we manage this?" Kennesaw had cried out after their interrogation. "We are simple people, just as you! We did not guide the Wraith. We did not create the sickness. We did not bring the cold! How could we? We're the same as you! It would take some horrible magic to do all this."

She didn't realize the reaction her words would bring, but as soon as she had spoken, their fate was sealed.

"Witches!" someone shouted, and out of the crowd, a rumble, as terrible as storm, as menacing as lightning, as thick as thunder. "Witches!" the cry repeated. "They harbor witches!"

The day grew darker. The cold, sharper.

The people of Latham were dragged to the center of town. The Waleskans, their countrymen, searched each person – looking for a sign, any flaw on the bodies of the townspeople that might prove their pact with evil. Those that were 'clean' were released, shoved into the wood, forced away. Anyone with a 'mark' – a mole, a birthmark, a deformity, a mere wart – were shoved into their homes, the doors barred, and the places were set ablaze.

Latham was a small town, little more than a collection of homes and little shops. Their surviving population had no chance against the mob. Anyone who tried to help was beaten back. Those that survived needed to protect their fellow survivors.

So, the Lathams ran into the night, families finding families, friends linking up with friends, disappearing, trying to find a little hideout as their own mothers and brothers, sisters and children were consumed in the flame.

Somehow Kennesaw and her family had escaped the conflagration. They held some respect among the people of Waleska. Kennesaw had managed to hide the 'blot' that would have spelled her doom, and had hidden the blemished granddaughter. They'd escaped to build what little comfort they could, hidden in the woods. They would wait it out, wait until the weather broke, until the gentle autumn returned as it should. Then they could rebuild, start anew.

But the bad weather held, and they knew that the other Waleskans would return to find them, to rout the evil out, and the marks would be discovered.

The family was desperate, so when the sons of Kennesaw saw strangers in their burnt out town, when the boys heard the title "doctor" bandied about, they sent word back to the matriarch. They'd heard of 'doctors', the men of science that came from other worlds. Such men would not be swayed by cries of 'witch'.

The family of Kennesaw did what they thought was necessary to remove the 'flaws', to ensure that they didn't meet the same fate as their brethren. They meant no harm to the visitors, only wanting to borrow the skills of the doctors and release them. They only meant to save themselves.

This is how the story was related to people from Atlantis. Kennesaw told the tale as Beckett performed the simple procedure on her finger, burning off the wart that might have spelled her doom. She spoke as he worked under the strange lights of the visitors. And when his work was done, she held the finger tightly in her other hand and watched Beckett examine the large birthmark on her granddaughter's arm.

"It's a port wine stain birthmark. It'll be a little tricky to remove. I'll need surgery," Beckett said dolefully, not liking the idea of doing unnecessary work on the child. The birthmark was deep. "And it'll leave a scar most likely."

"Can the scar be hidden?" Kennesaw asked. When Beckett looked dubious, she asked, "Can the scar be hidden better than the mark?"

"Why didn't you just use the Gate to leave?" Beckett asked instead. "You all could have just gone elsewhere, found someplace new."

Kennesaw said nothing, looking at the whitened patch on her finger where her 'mark of the witch' had once been. "It is easy to ask that question," she responded softly.

"They probably don't know any addresses," Ronon explained, nodding to the woman. "If you haven't been anywhere, how are you supposed to know what to do?"

He lifted his head and asked, "Someone did dial it when you were off playing Wraith, leading our people away."

"And even so," Kennesaw stated. "To leave is so strange. I have lived here all my life. My parents lived here, and their parents too. Their ghosts walk these forests. The ghosts of those who burned walk, too. These are my people. How could I leave Waleska?" She sighed, rubbing the spot. "The people of Waleska are our people. How could they do this to us?"

"They were afraid," Teyla tried to console.

"Needed someone to blame," Ronon added.

McKay snorted from where he sat, keeping his skinned knee elevated. "Superstition," he muttered. "People getting killed for nothing. Pure ignorance."

But Kennesaw looked beyond them, out toward the darkness and the frost that surrounded them. "Yes, ignorance. They killed men and women who had never done them any harm. They killed children, mere babes." And her voice caught for a moment. She ran one hand along her dress, smoothing away the creases.

"We'll find you a new home," Beckett insisted. "Away from them."

She winced at this thought, "I don't want to be away from my home, my people, my ghosts."

"Wait a minute," McKay cut in. "After what they did to you and your towns people?" He jerked his head in the direction of Latham. "You deserve better that that, you know?"

Kennesaw looked uncertain.

Beckett went on, "If you leave, we won't even need to do a procedure on your granddaughter. I mean, the birthmark really isn't much of anythin', is it? So there's no sense in takin' it off if you don't need to."

Kennesaw pulled at her long sleeves, bringing them down to cover her hands. "It would be best for her future if it is done."

"Hey," McKay groused. "You know, I don't care if you go or if you stay, but I'm done. Are we getting out of here any time soon? It's damn cold here." He crossed his arms over his chest and clenched them tightly to himself. "I'm just sayin', we can have this conversation back home where it's… warm? I mean, you all can come, right?"

Sheppard, leaning against a tree, commented, "Sure, we can get moving any time you feel up to it. Gonna be a hike… on that horribly mutilated leg of yours."

McKay grimaced, glaring at the lump beneath his pant leg where Beckett had applied a bandage. "Sure you can't get a jumper in here? We passed some fields. Bet you could bring it down into one of them."

Sheppard shrugged, "Yeah," he said, "But it'll take us a good hour to get back to the Gate, then I'll have to explain to Elizabeth why we need a jumper. I mean, skinned-knee-rescue probably isn't on the top of her list of emergency uses. Probably would take us a couple hours before we could get back here to pick you up, and by then you'd probably be frozen solid."

Ronon grinned like a lion as Sheppard spoke, and Teyla shook her head. Beckett just watched, smiling slightly.

"Fine," McKay shot back. "Wouldn't want to put you out or anything. Let's get moving."

Sheppard went on, "We'll come back for the kid tomorrow if you want. We should probably check on Lorne and Acworth, and the fellas I left to watch them. See if our guys have gotten beyond the glassy-eyed stare phase yet."

"Aye," Beckett replied. "They should be comin' around by now. Poor lads."

The colonel's jovial expression fell a bit as he continued, "Going to have a bit of a talk with Lorne about this. He shouldn't have let those villagers get so close." He glanced to Kennesaw. "Brave men," he commented. "They might have been killed if they hadn't been so 'lucky'."

She raised her chin a fraction. "They're my boys," she stated.

Sheppard went on, "How did they ended up with those stunners?"

"They cost us nearly all our stores," Kennesaw returned. "A trader came, only days ago. How he managed to get his hands on such weapons, I do not know. He wanted food stuffs." Her eyes took on a distant look as she said, "We might not have traded our grain if all was normal, but we had suffered through strange doings and needed to protect ourselves." She smiled slightly, ironically. "After the illness, the Wraith, the coming of the freeze, we had hidden our grain stores, and foolishly kept this fact from our people when they came. Sometimes I think if we'd only shared what we had, they may have left us be. But we were frightened. Our people diminished, and us without homes, we no longer had need for so much grain." 

It was a bad situation for the people of Latham, there was no doubting that. There was no easy way to fix it, but Beckett wished he had something he could say to soothe the woman, to help.

Before he could speak, Sheppard stood, declaring, "Well, we better get going. Got a bit of a hike ahead of us. You like hiking, don't you, McKay?"

To that, McKay groaned but he managed to stagger to his feet. "Love it," he grumbled. "Great." And he let out a painful "Ow…" as he stood.

"Buck up, Rodney," Sheppard told him, giving him a slap on the shoulder. "Come on, Mr. Stumbles."

To that, Rodney replied smartly, "I'll have you know, I did this on purpose. Tore up my own flesh in hopes that you would catch up to us."

"Fell on your ass?" Ronon clarified with a chuckle.

"No!" McKay retorted as he gestured to his covered knee. "Does this look like an ass?"

Sheppard and Ronon exchanged a look, grinned, but said nothing.

"Aye," Beckett interjected helpfully. "I didn't figure it out at the time, but he was doin' his level best to slow us down and to make sure our trail was well marked." He regarded the scientist for a moment, unable to hide a smirk at McKay's miserable countenance as Rodney gingerly stepped about, trying out the injured limb.

Sheppard had no response; he continued to watch McKay's movements, then glancing to Beckett. Ronon looked mildly impressed. Teyla smiled warmly at McKay and offered him her arm as he struggled around the area. He looked at it in surprise, as if she'd just offered him a snake. Suddenly his stride became less labored and he waved her away.

Smiling to himself, Sheppard turned away, and radioed back to to check on the progress of Lorne and Acworth, finding that they were doing as well as could be expected.

Since the others were preparing to leave, Beckett turned to Kennesaw and told her, "You and your family may come with us. We'll find a new home for you." He glanced toward Sheppard, looking for confirmation.

The colonel nodded in response. But Kennesaw remained still, her head down. Behind her, the family waited.

"This planet is our home," she said softly, even as her eyes darted to the poor substitutes for houses, under the blanket of frost. "This is all that we have. How could we leave our ghosts?"

"But how can you live here?" Beckett persisted.

Kennesaw didn't respond, her eyes still gazing beyond them. "But we must. We must be with them. They are our people."

With a sigh, Beckett commented, "They'll be with you wherever you travel as long as you keep them in your hearts."

And Kennesaw looked at him with something resembling hope. "Do you believe this?" she asked him.

Beckett smiled, saying, "I've traveled an awful long way from my family and they're with me all the time."

Kennesaw said nothing, weighing his response.

"How 'bout this, we'll come back in the morning," Sheppard suggested. "You can tell us what you want to do then. We can either get that arm fixed up for your granddaughter, or we'll find you a new home – whatever you decide."

"Thank you," Kennesaw responded. "We will have an answer."

So, they moved out, Ronon in the lead to blaze the trail with Sheppard behind. McKay fell in after them and Beckett stayed with him. Teyla followed, with the rest of the Marines covering the rear.

Carson noted that Rodney's limp seemed to have disappeared for the most part, and he walked without any of the clumsiness that had augmented their journey into the woods. With no need to 'mark the trail', their trek back toward the town was much faster than their journey out. Little was said.

They hadn't gone far when Sgt. Wilmington hissed a warning. Everyone stopped. Beckett caught a glimpse of Sheppard's face. The colonel's easygoing manner was gone as he herded McKay and him into the center of the group. McKay had his 9mm in hand.

The quiet crunch of footsteps came from behind them, feet stepping over frozen ground. The glare of torches illuminated the woods, casting strange shadows. Faces seemed to glow in that light, coming out of the gloomy cold darkness.

Beckett recognized Kennesaw at the head of the group, her family. She looked hopefully, first to Carson, then to Sheppard, checking to see if their presence was acceptable.

"So, you're coming?" Sheppard asked, holstering his weapon.

Kennesaw paid the action no mind. "We have nothing left here," she explained. "They have killed my own townspeople." She glanced to McKay, stating, "We deserve better than that from our people." And she turned toward Beckett, saying, "Our ghosts will go with us. They are with us, in our hearts."

Little more was said. Kennesaw's family folded themselves into the bunch, and the enlarged procession moved onward, through the darkened, frozen woods and back toward the Gate.

It was strange doings, a procession through the night, through the frost blasted wood. Their illuminations threw up odd shadows in the frost. Here and there a leaf, dead before its time, broke from its branch, unseen, to fall with a quiet sound in the frozen night.

And the group continued onward. The family was solemn, anticipating whatever new life awaited them.

**THE END** - by NotTasha

**November Night**

Listen . . .  
With faint dry sound,  
Like steps of passing ghosts,  
The leaves, frost-crisped, break from the trees  
And fall.

_**Adelaide Crapsey**_


End file.
